Shades of Sorry
by serijules
Summary: 50 Shades of Grey One Shot - Sawyer and Taylor are punished for their lapse in security. Contains adults language and adult BDSM theme. Complete.


_I do not own 50 Shades of Grey or any of the characters._

**_*Warning* This story contains mean, painful things. And cussing. If you are not a fan of mean cussy things, I'm not entirely sure why you are even a fan of the original trilogy, but we are all a little strange in our own ways. Proceed with caution. Or delight, depending on your own shades of fucked-up-ness._**

**Shades of Sorry**

I sigh wearily as I fall into bed. It has been a long week. The car chase earlier has frazzled my last nerve, and I'm pissed as hell the unsub got away from us. I'm pissed Ana was driving the R8 and was the one who had to elude the asshole. I'm pissed that Mr. Grey is pissed at us for allowing her to get that far ahead. I'm pissed to hell that Sawyer allowed that to happen. I'm responsible for him – how he does his job reflects directly on me. Frankly, I'm just plain pissed off, and I can't relax enough to get any sleep.

Ever since Christian met Ana, my life has been living hell. One of the reasons I stay with Mr. Grey as his personal protection is because of the predictability of the job. Grey rarely deviates from his schedule, and the times he does attend functions or events, they are still predictable functions and events. Lately he has been flying all over the place, staying in hotels he doesn't usually stay in, going places he rarely goes, and changing his mind numerous times throughout the day as to what the evening will bring. It's driving me mad.

It seems as if Christian and Ana fight every few days, and every time they fight, I have to deal with Grey's mood swings and temper. Dealing with the boss's temper is not something I'm a stranger to by any means, but in the past four years I've worked for him, I've never had to deal with him actually being…happy. Mood swings from pissed off to angry I can deal with. Mood swings from happy to fucking pissed off and back to happy again are new.

I am fond of Ana. I admire that she stands up to Christian, how she won't allow him to boss her around. I would never have thought he would have anyone in his life like that considering he barely refrains from bossing his own family around. That being said, Ana doesn't realize how difficult it can be to keep her safe when she's with someone as rich as Mr. Grey, especially considering his past relationships. The rich always have enemies, and most of those enemies are people we don't even know exist. It makes my job a lot more stressful. Not only do I have to be aware of the known enemies, I have to constantly be aware of the ones we would never even consider. The faceless yet obsessively jealous. The compulsive and nameless adoring. And apparently the mentally fucking ill.

It's hard for me to not be able to protect them both at the same time. Sawyer is assigned to Ana, but it is my job to make sure he does his job as expected, as well as my focus on protecting Mr. Grey. It would be a hell of a lot easier if I could just clone myself. I trust Sawyer, and I like the guy, but it's always easier to just do the job yourself if possible. Unfortunately, I can't be in two places at once. Thus; Sawyer.

I'm not entirely sure he still has a job, and the thought of losing him makes me groan out loud. I know he made a mistake, but I truly think he is the best man for the job of protecting Ana, other than myself. Every time someone new joins the team, I am stretched thin. Breaking them in, making sure they know every single rule, every single expectation, and do their job well. I've finally got Sawyer trained, and I don't relish the idea of starting over again with someone else. I hope I can talk Grey into keeping him, although I'm afraid of what that may mean. I'm not sure I will be doing Luke a favor by sticking up for him.

There is nothing I can do about it tonight, however. Sawyer is still waiting in my office. Mr. Grey left him hanging, and until he dismisses him, he isn't to step a foot outside that office. He knows that, and despite my anger, I feel a twinge of sympathy for him. When I headed to my quarters an hour earlier, he was still standing there, and there is no sign Mr. Grey intends to relieve him that evening, based on the sounds coming from the direction of the bedroom.

At least it isn't me…yet.

I wrap an arm around the sleeping form of my girl and Grey's housekeeper Gail, careful not to wake her, and drift off. Tomorrow is sure to be another long day.

I wake early, as usual. Christian usually runs at 6am, on the dot. Sometimes I think the phrase "on the dot" was created in his influence. I remember the time I was three minutes late for our run, after a sleepless night. He was less than impressed, and punished me by making our run three miles longer than usual. By the time we finished, I was ready to drop dead, and I had the entire day ahead of me yet. I'm in great shape, but even I don't work out as much as the boss does. I've never been late for our morning run since. Grey has two modes of operation when he is unhappy about something. He either yells his fucking head off, or he finds some subtle way to make sure you pay for pissing him off. Either way, you know when you are being punished.

Being it is Saturday, I know he won't be waiting to run, but I can't sleep past 5:30 anymore, too conditioned to waking early. I shower, dress and head for my office, wondering if I will find Sawyer there. My anger begins to bubble up to the surface again. Now that I've had some sleep and the adrenaline of last night's drama has worn off, I've realized I need to talk to Mr. Grey about Sawyer, and I'm not looking forward to it.

I reach my office and sure enough, Sawyer is there, fast asleep in a desk chair, still wearing the same clothes as last night. So Mr. Grey hasn't spoken to him yet. I guess that's good. It means he hasn't fired his ass yet either.

I continue on to Mr. Grey's office, running a hand across the buzzed hair barely covering my scalp and take a deep breath. I really don't want to have this conversation. It means bringing my own shortcomings to his attention as well as Sawyer's. Not that I'm under any illusion that Mr. Grey has forgotten who is ultimately responsible for the evening turning out as it did, but it's difficult to be the one to bring it up.

I knock on the door and wait for Christian's curt reply, granting me entrance. He doesn't look at me as I step into the room and close the door behind me, standing at attention in front of the door. He's still plenty pissed; you can taste it in the air, see it in his stance. I'm suddenly nervous, swallowing hard. I came in here worried about Sawyer's job – now I'm not too certain about my own.

The silence stretches, punching me in the gut with its awkward heavy hand. I don't dare speak first – the glare in my boss's eyes make that clear.

"Mr. Taylor."

I wince. He never calls me "Mr." unless he's beyond nuclear angry. It's always just Taylor, or on occasion, Jason. The last time he addressed me this way, I left his office thoroughly dressed down. I am not looking forward to repeating that scene. Some small part of me holds out hope that Ana's influence reaches into the depth of Grey's depravity and has somehow softened the damn man. It's a very small part.

"Sir. I would like to recommend you retain Sawyer. I know he made a mistake last night, and if you intend to keep him on as Ana's bodyguard, I will be sure it won't happen again. Despite what happened, I still feel he is best for the job."

It's a struggle to keep my eyes on him. I see his whole body stiffen at my words, which is quite a skill seeing how tense he was to begin with. He's not happy with what I've said.

"What happened last night is not going to happen again, I will be making sure of that Mr. Taylor."

I nod, my mouth dry. I know I should verbally answer him, but at the moment, I can't seem to make my lips move.

He stares at me coldly for a moment, seemingly contemplating something, and finally turns to his file cabinet, pulling out a slim manila folder with a typed label that simply says CONSENT FORM. I recognize it and close my eyes briefly until he speaks again, his voice rough with barely contained rage.

"The form is in here along with Sawyer's NDA. He signs it, he stays. Otherwise he can get his shit and get the fuck out. And while you are explaining this to him, you might want to refresh your own memory on the contents of the form as well Mr. Taylor. You and I will be discussing them after I demonstrate on Sawyer."

It takes me a moment to find my voice again. I find it faster once Grey raises a brow at me, impatient for my reply.

"Yes sir."

He nods curtly, turning away from me. He lets me squirm for a moment before he speaks again.

"Dismissed."

I take the dreaded folder and barrel out the door as fast as I can without looking like a fool, gritting my teeth so hard I can hear my heart thudding in my ears. Goddamn Sawyer for getting me into this mess. He's going to have to deal with Grey AND me now.

I storm into my office and slam the folder down on the desk in front of the sleeping Sawyer. He bolts awake with a yelp, going for his gun, but I wrap my fist in his shirt and shake him hard, bringing him back to reality. He looks at me and the color drains from his face. I'm surprised it isn't draining out of his dick and staining his pants. Not only has he been waiting all night for Grey or I to dismiss him, he's been caught sleeping. He knows he's in trouble.

"Stand up!" I growl, taking a step back, glaring at him.

He shoots to his feet in an instant, running a hand through his disheveled mop. He looks like shit. His clothes are rumpled, his usually well-groomed hair is in disarray, and stubble shadows across his face. There are dark circles under his eyes, which stand out in contrast with his now-pale pallor. He fidgets nervously, and I suspect now that he is awake, he has to urinate badly. He hasn't left my office since the previous evening.

I ignore his discomfort, stabbing a finger at the innocuous folder and ordering, "Open that."

He obeys without hesitation, opening the folder to find his signed and dated non-disclosure agreement from when he was first hired. He skims it quickly then looks at me, his jaw slack with confusion.

"Sir?"

"That is just a reminder, Mr. Sawyer. Read the next form."

Great. More of Grey's habits are rubbing off on me. I've never addressed him as "mister" either. Sigh.

He picks up the slight. He's a bright man; I knew he would. He slowly puts aside the NDA and quickly glances at the next form, blanching as his eyes flit up to the top of the form to read again, slower this time. When his eyes reach the bottom of the page for the second time, I can see his hands have started to shake, and he looks at me, dread pooling in his dark eyes.

"Sir…what…"

I cut him off. "Luke, do you want to keep this job?"

He lowers the form, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes in agitation, staring at me incredulously. I know he wants to keep this job. NEEDS to keep this job. Grey is generous in his pay and benefits, but not only that, he takes care of his closest employee's family. He pays for my daughter's schooling. He pays for Luke's brother's medical and psychological care, which is the best in the country. His brother has only recently started to respond to treatment for his mental disorders, and it's due to the quality of care that Grey pays for. Care Luke and his family can't provide on their own. Yes, he wants to keep his job, and will do anything to do so for his brother's sake.

It doesn't make what he's read on the form any easier to stomach.

"Yes, sir…I need this job. Please…"

He's pleading now, and I feel my anger ebb a bit, but I can't let him know that. I think of Grey's parting words before he dismissed me, and the anger comes rolling back in like a summer storm.

"Then I suggest you sign that form."

He swallows, hard, glancing back down at the offending piece of paper.

We are all aware of Mr. Grey's extra-curricular activities. You can't live in this house for any length of time and not be aware of them. Luke hasn't been here long, and has never seen the full extent of those interests and skills like Mrs. Jones and I have, but he is aware of them.

The non-disclosure agreement he signed when he was hired full time assures he will not speak of those activities to anyone. Nor will he speak about what he is about to experience. I doubt he would have any desire to share that information with anyone, regardless of the NDA, but the reminder needed to be given anyhow.

"Who…who will be doing it. You or Mr. Grey?" he finally asks, his voice timid and strained. It's a sight to see - this tough as nails trained bodyguard standing there, fidgeting (I'm sure his bladder is about to explode), looking like a lost child rather than the hard ass he is.

"Mr. Grey will be administering the punishment, Mr. Sawyer. I will be present as a witness."

He nods and swallows, switching his weight to his other foot, glancing down at the form again. I suspect he's having a hard time believing this isn't just some fucked up dream.

"If you sign, consent, and obey, you will keep your job. Otherwise I have orders to have you removed from the building. The choice is yours." I inform him, my voice sounding foreign and stern, even to myself.

He takes a deep breath and shakily picks up a pen from the desk, leaning over and placing the form on the flat surface. His eyes skim over it again and he poises his hand at the correct line, scribbling his name and dating it, his fate sealed in an unsteady scrawl of black ink.

His eyes were closed the whole time.

I've dismissed Luke to eat, get a little sleep, and pee. It's only 7:30, and I already feel beat. I have plans to see my daughter today, and I'm hoping Mr. Grey will allow me to keep these plans. Seeing how I haven't been ordered otherwise, I go about my day as planned.

I'm delighted to see Sophie – I spend far too little time with her – but my mood is dampened by impending issues I'm sure will be addressed this evening. By evening she is overly tired, so I decide to cut our visit short and head back to the apartment. No sense dragging out the inevitable.

When I arrive back at Escala, Luke is not in my office as I expect, which makes me nervous. Has something happened while I've been gone and Luke has been fired after all? Maybe he changed his mind. I sure wouldn't blame him. Unfortunately, I've been on his side of the fence before, and according to Grey's threat, I will be there again shortly myself.

Pushing my own doom out of my head, I detour towards Grey's office. The door is open, and I can see Gail and Ana in the utility room talking. Slipping out of their line of sight, I enter the office just in time to hear Mr. Grey shouting at Luke, who is standing at attention in front of him, pale as a ghost.

"Where the fuck were you?"

I quickly shut the door and lock it, mindful of Ana and Gail outside the door. The office is sound-proof. Thank the fucking lord.

Grey's face is an unhealthy shade of red. The thought pops into my head that he matches his playroom décor, and to my dismay, I feel a chuckle threaten its way up my throat. I disguise it with a cough, bringing attention to myself I really would rather avoid at the moment, considering the scene in front of me.

"Never mind," Grey growls, switching his high beam glare over to me, "I'll get the gory details from Taylor later." He holds his hand out to me and snaps his fingers impatiently. He doesn't need to give the order; I know what he wants. I step over to the cabinet where the files are kept, extracting a long, thin cane. It is innocent looking, as far as implements go. I've seen items in the playroom that look far more menacing than this thin, springy rod of bamboo. However, I have experienced the feel of it on my flesh. It's anything but innocent.

Sawyer's eyes widen and he blanches an even paler shade of ghost. I wonder if he will ever completely regain color in his face again.

I hand Grey the cane and step back. My involvement in this is simply to witness the punishment and sign the form under Luke's signature when it is over. Honestly, my gut tells me to run for the hills, but I stay in position, hands locked behind my back, my gaze straight ahead and expression grim. That I don't have to fake. My entire body feels grim. I know I'm next. What I don't know is if I will be getting it worse than Luke or not. I try to banish the thought from my head again. No sense dwelling on what I can't control.

Grey turns back to Luke, the cane positioned expertly in his hand. He knows how to use it, that much is obvious. It isn't reassuring at all. It makes him look all the more menacing, and trust me, Grey doesn't have to try to look menacing. He just has to exist.

"Bend your fucking ass over the desk. Palms flat. Now."

Luke obeys quickly, to his credit. I think he just wants this over with. So do I.

Grey turns to me, and I hastily straighten.

"All is in order for me to proceed with this?"

"Yes sir."

He turns back to Sawyer, whose palms are leaving sweaty marks on the desktop already. He hasn't moved. Good man.

I watch as Grey settles the cane across Luke's asscheeks, the bamboo pressing into the cloth of his black slacks. Once he finds his mark, he brings the cane back sharply, swinging forward to connect with his target. The cane makes a loud CRACK as it lands, drowned out by a yell of pain and surprise from Luke. He shoots up and I wince; if I had been here before Grey called for him, I would have coached him on how he was expected to behave. Crap.

Grey looks like he's going to explode, and I realize I need to get this back in hand, quick.

"Mr. Sawyer, your hands are to remain on the desk the entire time. You are not to move. Understand?" I keep my voice firm, but allow a measure of reassurance to meddle its way in. I can't help it. This is difficult to watch, and I have no idea how Grey's submissives have been able to do this weekend after weekend.

Luke nods weakly. He caught sight of Grey's face. He isn't going to do that again. I narrow my eyes at him and he catches on, verbalizing his answer. "Yes sir."

As he bends back over, I catch a slight smirk on Grey's face. I think he caught the whole "Mr." address. Sigh.

He turns his attention back to his victim, marking his spot with the cane again. He's chosen the precise place the first stroke landed. It is clearly a warning. Before I can even blink, the cane finds Luke's backside again, wounding the same spot it met just moments before.

God he's a bastard. An accurate bastard, no less. I bet he would be skilled with a gun if he wasn't so against them.

Luke, to his credit, takes this stroke with discipline. He can't contain his cry, but he holds position. I feel oddly proud. I know how hard that is to do.

Grey is in his element now, forgetting about me, his focus pinned in on Luke. He doesn't waste any time, claiming his next target, a mere inch down from the previous stroke. He taps the space in warning and then brings the cane down again with the same lightening quick speed and accuracy. The resounding crack of cane-meets-ass fills the otherwise silent room, once again marred by Luke's cry of pain.

And so it continues. The first ones are rewarded with a warning tap before the stroke finds its mark, but the severity of the strokes is growing as the scene goes on until Luke's composure starts to unravel, his hands curling into fists and his breaths coming in choking gasps.

After one particularly hard stroke, the eighth by my count, Grey has moved halfway down his zone. The cane now rests right at that tender area where ass curves into thigh. This stroke is going to hurt. Luke will feel it all the way through to his groin, and it will be the stroke he is hyper aware of every time he moves, sits or takes too deep of a breath over the next few days.

And I gasp. Damnit all to hell, I gasp out loud in pained anticipation, causing Sawyer to startle slightly out of position under the warning tap. Grey hears my utterance and gazes at me, his eyes dark and menacing with admonishment. I have never in my life met a man that could make my balls shrink in horror with just his eyeballs, but Christian Fucking Grey can do it with a glance.

I gulp and purse my lips, pulling myself into a stance any military fucking rank would be proud of. Grey nod slightly, and flicks his gaze back to the quivering backside before him. The cane hasn't moved a centimeter during our exchange.

The stroke is everything it promised to be, extended warning be damned, and Luke digs his nails into his palms, his forehead pressed so tightly into the desk I'm surprised he doesn't leave a dent. He whimpers, a low pained sound that reminds me of a dying animal.

But Grey continues, no longer giving any warning. He just brings the cane down harshly, quickly, barely allowing Luke to catch his breath from the previous one before another stroke claims its assets, the sensitive expanse of Luke's thighs taking the rest of the punishment. I know this is my doing, I know he has forgone the warning tap as a punishment to me for losing my own composure. I mentally berate myself: I know better. I know what Grey expects during these scenes, although to my knowledge other than perhaps his submissives, I am the only one that has ever been unlucky enough to learn how Grey handles lapses in safety matters. Until now.

Poor Sawyer.

Eight more strokes serve their purpose, one after the other, each as severe and jarring as the one before. Luke is strangely silent for the final four: I can see him breaking down before my eyes. His body is limp now, although his nails are still digging into his palms. He will have half-moons marring his hands for a while.

And then it's over. Grey sets the cane on the desk in Luke's line of vision and steps back, his breathing uneven and his face drained of its earlier shade of volcanic-anger red, but he looks somehow marginally relaxed. I realize he's gotten his closure – it's over and Luke is back in his good graces once again, despite the fact he is still sniffling and quivering across the boss's desk.

I want to hate Grey but I can't. As much as I hate to see one of my men dressed down this severely, I can't hate the punisher. I know Luke will never take Ana's safety lightly again. I know **I** will never take Ana's safety lightly again, and I haven't even gotten mine yet.

Once Sawyer's breathing is once again under control, Grey nods once in my direction, his still-stormy regard sending me messages in volume.

"Luke, you are dismissed. You may spend the rest of the evening in my office manning the monitors. I suggest you do so sitting down."

Fuck me, but I can be just as cruel as Mr. Dominant over there. I can't take credit for the order though; I simply know my boss and his expectations far too well.

Luke stands shakily, avoiding looking at either Grey or me. He winces as he straightens, and I know why. Every muscle he so much as twitches, every breath he so much as inhales, he can feel burning straight through the welts that now cover his ass and thighs. Every move reawakens the lashes painted across his backside, and will for days. That was one hell of a severe caning.

He turns with a hiss of breath and I spot a thin line of blood across his lips, suddenly privy to how he managed to keep quiet for the last of the strokes. He bit his fucking lip so hard it's bleeding. He avoids my eyes and practically stalks out of the study. He can't get away fast enough. It's a good thing I discreetly unlocked the door before dismissing him or I think he might have crashed right through the barrier in his haste to escape.

Once the door is closed again, I take a deep breath and turn back to my commander. It takes a lot of willpower for me not to follow Luke out that door, after what I've just witnessed.

Grey has the cane in his hand again, much to my dismay, and I suddenly wonder how much worse my penalty is going to be. Sawyer was the one driving the car, Sawyer was the one who let Ana get away from him and didn't notice the other car following them until it was too late, but I was the one who trained him, who is responsible for his fuck ups. It may not sound fair, but it's the way things go when a chain of command is present. Sometimes, being the one on top doesn't mean you have the power. There is ALWAYS someone higher up than you, be it god, the law, or in my case, Christian Grey.

I don't have to wait long for my answer. He is glaring at me again, his brief moment of relaxation gone out the door with Sawyer's sorry ass. His body is rigid again, the powerful anger coursing through his veins and smoldering off his body. It's my turn, and all I can do is stand there and wait for my sentence. One way or another, this is going to be worse than what I just witnessed.

"Mr. Taylor, do you want to explain to me where the fuck your man was, to allow that car to get that close to us."

I clear my throat, clasping my hands tightly behind my back to resist the urge to run them through my non-existent hair. I swear it's a habit I've picked up from Grey. I don't even have enough hair to run a comb through, much less my hand.

"Sir, there is no excuse for what happened. Sawyer was caught by surprise when Mrs. Grey floored the vehicle. He allowed it to fluster him, and he didn't realize you were being followed immediately as a result."

I almost added my apologies, but instinct tells me to refrain. There were no words that could fix this for Grey. I suspect he is grilling me to give himself time to calm down before he beats the shit out of me.

"Do you have anything to say before we finish this, Mr. Taylor?"

That fucking title. I can't even explain why those two little syllables make my blood run cold. I imagine it's the years of learning to pick up every subtle hint Grey gives off as to what his mood and expectations are. Years of reading body language and watching for the slightest of dangers and signs of what is to come. Those two little letters and their little period friend in front of my name are worse than any curse Grey could throw at me. They spell pain and suffering.

"No sir. Please proceed."

I glimpse a ghost of a smile on his lips. We've been through a lot together, in the last four years. I know this is how he will be able to forgive me, and trust me again. I know he knows I know it. I signed my own form many years ago. I'm just thankful as fuck he doesn't require a witness for my retribution.

"Bend over Taylor. I want your pants and underwear at your ankles."

And there it is - my more, my humiliating penalty for allowing this to happen, for failing. I'm getting caned on my bare fucking ass.

God I hope he doesn't want to drive to goddamned Portland or something tomorrow.

Knowing Grey, he will order me to drive around all fucking day just so I'm forced to sit on my ass for hours on end.

Bastard.


End file.
